


Return from the Isle

by marguerite_26



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Powerful!Merlin, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-29
Updated: 2012-02-29
Packaged: 2017-10-31 22:02:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marguerite_26/pseuds/marguerite_26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Merlin kills Nimueh, he becomes trapped on the Isle of the Blessed, learning all he can from the ancient magic there until he is needed again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Return from the Isle

**Author's Note:**

> This is written for [](http://tracy7307.livejournal.com/profile)[**tracy7307**](http://tracy7307.livejournal.com/) for her donation to Japan Relief. She requested powerful!Merlin and canon!AU. Thank you so much to my betas (who worked their butts off helping me with this) [](http://tourdefierce.livejournal.com/profile)[**tourdefierce**](http://tourdefierce.livejournal.com/), [](http://snegurochka-lee.livejournal.com/profile)[**snegurochka_lee**](http://snegurochka-lee.livejournal.com/), and [](http://kick-flaw.livejournal.com/profile)[**kick_flaw**](http://kick-flaw.livejournal.com/)
> 
> This work was originally posted June 03, 2011

_  
"I’m sorry, Sire." Gaius wiped his hand on a cloth, shaking his head at the rusty red streaks left behind. "There is nothing I can do. The injuries appear to be magical in nature."_

_Arthur stared at Leon, at the gash across his chest that would not close, and then at Gaius’ chambers filled with make-shift beds. The whimpers of pain from the dozen or more men dying echoed around the room. "This is Mordred, then?"_

_"I believe so." Gaius pulled a sheet up to Leon’s shoulders. He didn't stir. "There is no way to heal these wounds without magic."_

_It was a single patrol, every one of them left alive, only to die slowly while Arthur watched. "He is mocking me, saying that we are helpless without magic. Maybe we are."  
_

Merlin’s eyes snapped open. His fingers were still buried deep in the moist earth of the island. The wind had changed, wiping against his cheeks as he blinked away the intensity of his vision. The air around him shimmered as though the island itself was answering Arthur’s call.

It had been five winters since he’d last spoken with Arthur. Merlin had left him alive, and healing. It was a comfort to know at least he’d managed that. But it didn’t make up for the years in between where all he could do was watch Arthur’s life move on. The visions of Camelot he’d seen over the years made him ache, the snippets of Arthur’s life: Gwen’s flight to Lancelot after her father’s death, Mordred’s growing strength and Morgana’s descent into madness, Uther’s death and the sad, solitary years of Arthur’s reign. Seeing Arthur stumbling through his trials alone sat heavily on Merlin’s conscience. This wasn’t how it was meant to be, he was sure.

He almost wished them away, the teasing, haunting scenes that he could do nothing to change the outcome of, do nothing to offer comfort. They were always intense when it was like this, Merlin lying on the dew-covered grass of the morning, his fingers sunk down, covered in the rich dirt of the island that throbbed with magic. He’d once managed _something_ , though he wasn’t even sure how. A small token that had been insufficient, almost nothing, but Merlin had hoped Arthur had felt comfort in the small sparrow he’d sent the morning of Uther's funeral, that the soft song outside his window had given a touch of Merlin’s magic and made him feel less alone.

A bell rang in the distance and Merlin jumped to his feet. Merlin hadn't heard the clang of that bell in five years. He ran to it. At the bottom of the stairs was the boat, the cast iron bell attached to the mast swinging wildly in the breeze.

It seemed like a lifetime ago when he and Gaius had laughed in the rain, holding each other after Nimueh’s death. Exhaustion had tumbled them into sleep and when Merlin woke, it had been to an empty island. When he had tried to summon the boat to return him to the mainland, it would not come. He had tried to jump in the water to swim to shore, only to find himself hitting an invisible barrier. The island provided food and a well of fresh water, cared for him enough to keep him alive, healthy, as it taught him the mysteries of the ancients. For the first year, he checked every day, did everything he could think of to escape.

But nothing stopped him now. He glanced over his shoulder to the island that had been his keeper, his teacher and his prison and found he had nothing to take with him but the clothes on his back and the shoes on his feet.

****

~o~

The court was full that morning, Arthur noted. The curious, the doubters and the hopeful had all gathered at the rumour that a sorcerer had entered Camelot and was prepared to offer his services to the king.

Arthur had heard the story. James had brought the news with breakfast. They said a man had rented a room at the Rising Sun, that as the man sat with his stew, devouring it like he hadn’t eaten in a week, a candle had toppled into a pile of hay beside him. He’d dowsed it with a flick of his wrist as if he’d had a cup of water at hand. When the inn keeper had shouted and said magic was banned in Camelot, the man had only smiled and asked who to speak with in order to beg audience with the king.

Arthur had dismissed the story outright – the lower town was full of grand tales that came to nothing. And James had bowed, clearing away the empty dishes with an, "Of course, Sire," a humble deference that always raised Arthur’s hackles.

Seeing the gathered crowd now, Arthur wasn’t sure what to think. The town’s people loved to perpetuate the rumours, but they rarely believed them. Not enough to miss a morning’s work to attend audiences. More than a little curious himself, Arthur nodded to the guard to begin.

The doors to the hall opened and a cloaked man walked forwards. A buzz of whispers travelled through the crowd, growing to a crescendo as the man stood before Arthur and lowered his hood.

Arthur gripped the arms of his throne as the familiar face came into view. Arthur would know those eyes, the cut of his jaw, no matter how many years it had been. But he was altered, too. His hair was longer, shaggy and unkempt, curling over his ears and at his nape, falling to brush at his eyebrows. It had to be Merlin, except that Merlin was dead as far as any of them knew. He’d ridden off one night, after telling Arthur goodbye in his own strange way, and had never returned.

His eyes were an exact match, but the reverence in his voice as he bowed, his eyes holding Arthur’s, and said, "Your Highness," was almost unrecognisable.

Arthur’s words caught in his throat, unsure how to greet this stranger, this _friend_ who he’d feared dead for so many years. Merlin had been an enigma in life and in death – it seemed resurrection did not cure him of that.

"I am Emrys." His voice rang out, addressing the room as well as Arthur. If there was any recognition in Emrys’ eyes, it was well hidden. "I have come to offer my talents to serve your kingdom, and _you_ , King Arthur Pendragon."

Arthur stood and approached the man, taking in the fine weave of his cloak and the proud line of his shoulders. He was a man who believed, who _knew_ , he would be taken seriously. "And what are these talents you speak of?"

There was a flash of something, a glint of challenge, in Emrys’ eyes. "I am magic."

A hiss of shock swept the crowd. The guards unsheathed their swords.

"You are a sorcerer." Arthur almost wanted to laugh at the boldness, the _stupidity_ of it. "And yet you come to Camelot where magic is banned and declare before me and my court that you have magic."

"I _am_ magic, my liege." Emrys closed his eyes and pressed his palms together. When he opened them again, cupped in his hand was a small sparrow.

The little bird sang out, and it jogged Arthur's memory, but he couldn't place it, only that it brought forth thoughts of early morning light and the comfort of a new day.

The man stared at Arthur now; his eyes were intense, full of emotion as though willing Arthur to believe."My gifts are yours to wield."

Arthur frowned; it had taken a long time to accept that Merlin was never coming back, had waited for weeks and months, expecting the fool to stumble into his chambers one day and stoke his fire as though it was perfectly normal to just disappear. _I am happy to be your servant until the day I die_ , he had said. But he hadn’t come back. Merlin was a man of his word, and that only meant one thing.

Yet Arthur felt that pull, that impulse deep within him to trust this stranger as he had with Merlin. He couldn’t explain it, nor could he deny it. There was something about him... and that too was familiar. He shook his head at the man, not unkindly. Arthur had no interesting in seeing this man’s death on the pyre or on the battlefield, he’d already mourned Merlin once.

"The sorcerers who are my enemies are powerful. I’m afraid your little tricks are more suited to banquet entertainment than for war." There was some tittering among the guards and Arthur moved to sit back down. He would make sure the man had an escort out of the kingdom, before his delusions of grandeur got his head removed from his body. He looked back at Emrys with a smile of apology. "The battlefield is no place for you or your sparrow."

But Emrys just grinned, slow and wide, as though he was _amused_ at Arthur’s refusal. The look was so like the _Merlin_ Arthur remembered, the man he had laughed with, teased, defied his father for in the search of a flower, fought beside to save a village not even in his kingdom. Arthur was startled by the depth of his reaction, the ache in his chest at the memory of the loss, and confusion at the sudden hope that he may finally get answers.

Then Emrys raised his hands above his head, neck bent as he stared at the high ceiling. Suddenly the room crackled with energy. The hair on Arthur’s arms stood on end, as in the moments before a mid-summer storm. The room hushed. Arthur’s pulse raced as he waited, strangely unafraid, at what would happen next.

Fire poured from Emrys’ palms, blasting to the ceiling in a pillar of light and heat.

The crowd screamed, falling over themselves, rushing for the door. But in a blink it was over. There was an ear-piercing clap and the flames morphed into a hundred tiny birds, loud and chaotic as they darted out the doors and through every open window.

One settled on Arthur’s shoulder. He shooed it away as he stood. He cleared his throat at one of his young knights who was staring at the ceiling, slack-jawed, watching the remaining birds find perch on the rafters. His skin tingled with the power of Emrys’ magic that still hung, thick and cloying, in the air.

Emrys stared; chin high and eyes tracing Arthur’s face, he said, "I want to help, Sire." The words were raw with emotion, stripped of pretence and reverence. Arthur felt an unfamiliar churn in his gut and groin. Merlin had looked at him like that, spoken with that same conviction that night while Arthur ate grapes and healed by the fire, not knowing it would be their last conversation.

There was no question in Arthur’s mind who stood before him now, back from the dead, or near enough. He held Merlin’s gaze, standing tall under the scrutiny or whatever it was behind the intensity of those blue eyes. " _Emrys_ ," he said, finally looking away when the hall began to fill with whispers. "A room will be prepared for you. You will join me for dinner this evening. I believe we have much to discuss."

"Thank you, Sire." A grin broke across Merlin’s face and Arthur’s heart clenched. No one had looked at him like that, with a mixture of pride and _amusement_ , in a very long time.

****

~o~

Merlin tugged up the hood of the cloak as he swept from the hall. He didn’t feel like being recognised, not yet, not by just anyone. Arthur had known, Merlin mused, if not from the moment he stepped forward, then certainly by the end. But it had gone well. Better than _well_ , it’d gone brilliantly. He’d performed magic in front of Arthur, in front of the entire court and he was being given leave to stay in Camelot – and not under the hospitality of the dungeons. The laughter in his chest threatened to spill over at his unexpected success.

It had been late the night before that he’d determined to enter court as _Emrys_. He’d conjured a cloak and scratched together a plan but hadn’t gotten much further than clutching Gaius’ old rabbit’s foot and hoping he’d impress without landing on the pyre, hoping that a flimsy mask of a different name and five years away would give him the boost of confidence to look Arthur in eye and declare himself magic. But the island’s magic had believed that Arthur was ready, and Merlin had no choice but to believe it too.

His belly still tingled at the warmth in Arthur’s eyes as he’d said Emrys in that teasing tone with the drawn-out ‘r’ as he’d long ago pronounced _Merlin_. When he’d left the island, he hadn’t been sure of his reception in Camelot, had tried not to expect too much. He and Arthur had been friends, of sorts. Master and servant both willing to risk their lives for each other time and again, but still so much distance between them. Part him had focused on being accepted into the court as a sorcerer, another part wanted that friendship back, that bond of trust that made Arthur look at him with soft eyes and a broad grin. He was high with his success, always was after performing magic. His body trembled from the rush, ached to take Arthur into his arms and celebrate being _home_ , but it was too early. Maybe, after a time. Merlin skipped up the tower steps. Tonight he’d dine with the king; hope welled in his chest.

The door to the court physician’s room was shut. Merlin took a deep breath before knocking softly and pushing the door open. "Gaius?"

Across the room Gaius turned and stared in stunned silence. The moment grew tense and Merlin almost wanted to introduce himself as Emrys, make it easier than risking Gaius not knowing him after all these years.

But then Gaius was pulling off his glasses and striding across the room. "Merlin! Thank heaven." He wrapped Merlin in a tight embrace, pulled back, face _glowing_. "Merlin! I thought—"

Merlin’s grin fell. "I know. I’m sorry. There was no way to let you know."

Gaius pulled him into another embrace, voice serious. "I thought you might have _died_. What on earth happened to you?"

"We fell asleep together in the rain. You remember that, right?"

Gaius gaped, speechless for a moment before explaining. "When I woke up here, I thought it was a dream. You were gone and Hunith was cured. When you didn’t return, I didn’t know what to think. I thought I’d dreamt it all, that I’d only gone to the island in my dream, and that while I slept you’d sacrificed yourself to Nimueh as you’d planned." Gaius shook his head, seemingly horrified with his own imagined failure.

"No. God, no, Gaius. That happened. And the island must have sent you back here. But it wouldn’t release me. It needed to teach me."

"Your mother never thought... she always said she’d be waiting for you back in Ealdor. That she knew you weren’t dead."

"I’ll send her a note." Merlin nodded, remembering the visions of her peaceful life and hard working hands still making do in Ealdor. "I’m needed here."

"Yes, you are." Gaius turned to the room and Merlin saw the row upon row of beds he’d been too distracted to notice earlier. Gaius moved to stand at Leon’s bedside. "You are desperately needed."

Merlin joined Gaius, staring down at the bloodied bandage across Leon’s chest. The blood was fresh, bright red, like the wound had just occurred and had yet to be treated other than to wrap it. Leon’s wrist and thigh had similar bindings, sopping with blood. His face was pale and clammy, his hair matted with sweat. "I had visions. The island would whisper things to me. But it’s different seeing it."

Merlin closed his eyes, hand stretched out. He remembered Leon, standing bravely at Arthur’s side against the Questing Beast, remembered him bumping into Gwen in the corridors and smiling kindly. He pictured Leon healthy and strong again, kneeling to his king. Then Merlin focused on how he didn’t want to see the hurt.

His hand warmed and he opened his eyes to see a shimmering yellow light push from his palms and dance over Leon’s body. It swept over him, winding about his torso then down his legs. As it grew stronger, a wisp of black, like smoke from a dirty candle, floated up from Leon’s chest, his thigh, his wrist. The wounds each shone bright beneath their bandages for an instant.

When the light retreated, Gaius cut away at the cloth. The skin had healed, leaving only a faint silvery scar. Gaius blinked up at Merlin, eyes wide and mouth opening and closing as though the words would not come.

A man across the room cried out in pain as he clutched his leg. Another, a soldier barely more than a boy with a cut across his cheek, called out, and then a dozen more of them packed into the room, their pleading and whimpers suddenly all Merlin could hear.

Merlin inhaled deeply and concentrated, directing his magic to one after another, until the room was a spider web of shimmering gold, connecting and healing those with wounds that would not close. The air filled with the stench of dark magic as it seeped from the bandages. He exhaled slowly, his breath a gust of wind, pushing the inky film out the open window.

When the last of the wounded was healed, the room echoed with questions and gasps as patients woke, free of pain. A familiar heat tingled Merlin fingers, crept down his thighs and up, stirring something else inside him. He hadn’t expected it; the magic hadn’t felt like much, but then again it had been so long since he’d been so controlled, so focused. He stumbled, drained, like his knees no longer existed. His head was clogged, stuffed full of wool.

Gaius grabbed his elbow. "Merlin?"

"Just tired." His own voice sounded far away. His body itched for something, though he couldn’t name what. "I might have over done it after this morning with Arthur."

"With Arthur? You've seen the king?" Gaius was moving him. Merlin tried to help him along, stumbling across the room. "Dear Lord, boy. You don’t like to stay out of trouble, do you?"

"Not a priority, no." Merlin laughed. He was hot, feverish. He desperately wanted to strip and would have if he were still on the island. He’d wake naked more often than not after a wild bout of magic, with his cock stiff and aching like it had been that way for hours. He shook his head, not wanting to follow that thought at the moment. Maybe he wasn’t ready to rejoin society quite yet.

"All right. I think you have done quite enough for today." Gaius’ grip on Merlin’s arm tightened as he looked around at his patients sitting up and talking amongst themselves. "Quite enough."

He led Merlin up the stairs to the small bedroom that had once been his. His blanket still lay on the bed. On the chair beside the bed, a shirt of his was draped across the back. There were a few new things, like Gaius’ worktable shoved in one corner, but mostly it was unchanged.

"It’s been waiting for you."

Merlin’s throat closed. He tried to swallow past it but a flood of regret and loneliness overwhelmed him. Five years since he’d been here. He turned to Gaius, his fatigue overwhelming, holding tight and burying his face in Gaius' shoulder. Five years since he’d spoken a single word to a human being.

"I missed you."

Gaius gave his shoulder a squeeze. "And I, you." He tapped Merlin’s cheek and grinned. "Now you do need rest. You’re fevered. Please – no more miracles until you’ve slept."

Merlin chuckled, giddy with the moment. "Promise." He let Gaius manoeuvre him to his old bed.

"You are a marvel, my boy." Gaius smiled, brushing back Merlin’s damp fringe. "But you really need a haircut."

Merlin, half-asleep, mumbled, "I tried, once. With magic. Ended up bald." Merlin smiled and closed his eyes.

He listened to Gaius’ laughter and let himself tumble into sleep. He dreamt of nothing for the first time in many years.

****

~o~

Arthur stood by the window, watching the sun set. Behind him was a table laden with food and several hovering servants whispering an argument about who should speak first, as though Arthur couldn’t hear every word.

"Sire." The poor soul who’d lost stepped forward, a young girl new to serving the court – they likely thought Arthur wouldn’t show her his temper. "Shall we clear the table? I – we are afraid the food may spoil."

"Has the sorcerer been found?"

Another servant stepped forward. "He was not in the chambers he was shown to earlier today. One of the guards said he was seen in the west end of the castle this afternoon but not since."

Arthur gritted his teeth. "Clear the table. See that yourselves and the kitchen staff are well fed. Nothing should spoil on account of this sorcerer’s _insolence_." He strode for the door, his head filled with questions that would get no answers if that damned _Emrys_ was not to be found. It grated that his unsatisfied curiosity was more annoying than the insult of being stood up. Arthur would find him and not leave his sight until he had some answers. He knew exactly where to start his search.

"Where is he?" Arthur burst into Gaius’ chambers, striding clear across the room before Gaius could even open his mouth.

He must have looked furious because Gaius sprang from his chair. "Sire?"

"Have you seen him?"

"Who?"

"The sorcerer! Emrys! The one I was to _dine_ with this evening."

"You were to dine with a _sorcerer_? Are you feeling quite all right, Your Highness?"

Arthur batted Gaius away as he moved to press a hand against Arthur’s brow. "I am fine. Hungry. Furious. Surely you heard about the audiences today. These things travel fast."

Gaius shook his head, continuing his work from earlier, pulling the sheets off an empty bed. "I have been quite busy this afternoon."

Arthur stopped. "That was Leon’s bed." Arthur’s eyes widened and he looked around. "And Sir Kay’s." The room was half-empty. "What happened?"

Gaius’ lips pursed a moment, then he turned to face Arthur. "They have been _healed_ , Sire."

Arthur watched a man across the room roll his wrist about, close his fist around a candlestick as if testing the strength of his grip; Arthur remembered that hand had nearly been severed." How is that possible?"

"By magic, I believe."

"Emrys." Arthur said the name with utter certainty. A pleasant tingle curled up his spine at the name, as though acknowledging it made it real. Made it possible.

"I’m sorry, Sire. I don’t know anyone by that name."

"For heaven’s sake, man!" Arthur snapped, tired of the farce. " _Merlin_! Have you seen Merlin."

"Oh yes! Merlin’s sleeping in his old room. He was quite tired from–" Gaius paused, awkward. "His journey."

"His _journey_." Arthur huffed. "Right." He pushed past Gaius and walked up the stairs to Merlin’s door. The muscle memory of it gave him a moment’s pause, as though the last five years disappeared beneath his feet. He shook it off.

The rickety door creaked as Arthur pushed it open. Merlin should be in the chambers assigned to him: a sitting room with a large hearth, a lovely table by the window to write missives, a feather mattress with a velvet coverlet and pillows enough for a king. Instead, Merlin appeared to have flopped onto his old bed. He was in a threadbare tunic. His breeches were worn at the knees and fraying at the hem. Beneath his head was the cloak Arthur had admired in the morning, now rolled haphazardly and used as a make-shift pillow. He was sprawled on top of the dusty blanket, looking like far too big a man to have ever slept in that tiny bed.

Arthur cleared his throat, leaning on the door frame. "When a king invites you to dinner, you come, you fool."

Merlin shifted, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "Tired. Been a long time since I’ve slept in a bed." Merlin turned, and curled up like a kitten in a patch of sunshine. "’s nice"

"Oh no, you don’t." Arthur entered the room fully and kicked the leg of Merlin’s bed. "Don’t you dare fall asleep on me."

"Gaius?" Merlin blinked up over his shoulder.

"No." The light in the room was dim, twilight turning everything a muted bluish grey. Arthur could still easily make out the panic in Merlin’s widening eyes.

Merlin sprang up, scrubbing his face in his hands. "Your highness. Sorry. I – I." He scrambled for his cloak, cheeks pink. He slipped it over his shoulders, hiding his worn servant’s clothes.

Arthur sighed. "You have your own chambers now, you know."

"I was tired." Merlin bowed his head, buttoning his cloak and smoothing the wrinkles until he looked more like the stranger Arthur had just met than the servant Arthur had missed so terribly.

"From the _journey_?" Arthur’s temper flared at the sudden pretence. Arthur backed away and crossed his arms over his chest. "Aren’t we past that?"

Merlin’s gaze flickered over Arthur’s, uncertain. "I’m not sure anymore."

"Well, we are." He worked his jaw, trying to stay calm but finding his emotions tugging at him. "I think you owe me an explanation, _Merlin_." There hadn’t been a word for years. No explanation. Only that Merlin had disappeared one night, taken a horse from the stables and had never returned. Even Gaius had claimed he didn’t know what had happened, only that he feared the worst.

"I was–" Merlin frowned, shook his head then picked up a candle. He paused a moment before waving a hand over the wick. It flickered to life. It somehow felt more real, more _Merlin_ than anything Arthur had seen, or heard of, so far that day. "I was trapped. I was on an island that refused to release me."

"The _island_ refused?"

"The magic of the island. The Old Religion, the ancient magics kept me there, to teach me. To... you know, I honestly am not sure." Merlin buried his hands into his mop of hair. "I was there for five winters."

"You were there since that night you left my chambers? When you babbled about bootlickers and about not being a prat."

Merlin lips curled upwards, and he exhaled a small laugh. "Too bad you didn’t listen."

Arthur felt his ire rise. How often he’d thought of those words and what they had meant, why they’d been spoken. He didn’t take them lightly and was going to say so, but he saw the mirth in Merlin’s eyes, glowing in the flicker of candlelight. "Right." He breathed out, catching his temper. It had been a long time since he’d been teased.

"And you escaped?"

Merlin snorted. "The island let me go. It was time."

"I don't understand."

"I’m ready." Merlin shrugged. " _You_ are ready, I guess. I’ve still got my head." Merlin looked up. "So far."

Arthur frowned. "Were you always..." He waved his hand, motioning to the candle. "Even then, were you … like this." _Powerful_ was what he meant.

"Yes?" Merlin's voice was quiet, as though he wasn’t sure where the answer would get him.

"Oh." Arthur tried to let that sink into his brain but it felt too huge, too incomprehensible for the Merlin of his memory – stumbling, fumbling, ridiculous Merlin. Honest and sincere and loyal above all else, with this massive secret. Arthur studied his face – slightly older, his skin lined about the eyes and his hair wild from sleep. Did Arthur know that Merlin, the man he’d remembered as a dear friend, any better than this stranger?

Merlin cast him a small, sad smile. "I couldn’t tell you."

Arthur hissed. The words cut as cleanly as a sharpened sword. "You didn’t trust me," Arthur said, his voice so low he saw Merlin strain to hear them. “Just like Morgana."

Merlin looked pained. Letting out a ragged breath, he said, "I am not like Morgana. I can’t tell you what happened with her. Mordred’s hold over her... it’s like there is nothing left of her now. The Morgana that we knew was crushed under his lies. She was right to be afraid of Uther, I don’t know what he would have done if he’d discovered her magic. But she could have gotten help." He pointed out, past the door to Gaius’ room. "That wasn’t her only path. And it will never be mine."

Arthur stared at the closed door, as though he could see the empty beds beyond. He had a choice to make, trust Merlin, a man who had proved himself worthy years ago, or turn away the help because of lies told long ago. Everything in Arthur called for him to embrace Merlin as the long lost friend, listen to his story and consider his offer. He hadn’t trusted anyone as he had trusted Merlin, save for his knights. During the years after his father’s death, he’d taken no counsel. He’d referred to Gaius rarely. Gaius was his father’s confidant, not his own. Leon was the closest to a friend and advisor as he’d taken, but even then Leon never challenged him, hadn’t questioned his judgement since his coronation. Arthur needed someone like Merlin, but he’d never found a replacement.

"I believe you. And I want to thank you for what you did for Leon and the others."

Merlin simply nodded, his eyes bright. "Mordred and Morgana are wrong. What they want to take from you is wrong. I will not let anyone take this kingdom from you, Arthur." The words were spoken with conviction, certainty, and Arthur felt them as though they were branded to his skin.

A small golden light appeared. It started at Arthur’s feet. He could see a golden string slide across the floor, quiet and unhurried. It wound itself around his boots, his ankles, up his legs as Merlin spoke. It should be terrifying – Arthur could feel Merlin's power, even like this, enough to make his skin prickle – but this was no threat. He looked to Merlin, saw surprise there, and a smile that was as warm and comforting as the string of magic snaking itself about Arthur's body. It might have been terrifying, if it hadn't felt like _Merlin_. Arthur’s eyes fluttered closed at the intimacy of it.

Merlin made a strangled sort of noise and Arthur’s eyes snapped open. The magic disappeared, leaving Arthur shivering at the loss.

"Sorry. Sorry," Merlin said, hands flying up to cover his flushed cheeks. "I’ve been alone for so long. I don’t think my magic knows quite how to deal with people yet."

Arthur stared at him, wanting to ask more, everything. There would be time later.

Arthur put his hand to Merlin’s neck, tugging him forward. "Come on, I’ll show you to your chambers."

"Actually, I think I’d like to stay here."

Arthur looked around the tiny dust-filled room. "Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin."

Merlin smiled, slow and sweet. "Just for tonight, then. I missed Gaius. I was alone for a long time."

Arthur remembered first few months without Merlin, the sickening quiet as he ate his meals, the deft hands of James who Uther had appointed as Arthur’s manservant after Merlin had been gone a week. The ennui of hunts with only knights who called him ‘sire’ and stiffened their shoulders the instant Arthur addressed them. "He missed you, too." The hair at Merlin's nape curled about Arthur's hand, tickling his fingers.

Arthur looked into Merlin’s eyes and held his gaze. After the moment became too tense, the heat of the room burning at Arthur’s cheeks, he tugged Merlin’s hair.

" _Emrys_ , you need a hair cut."

Merlin snorted. He wriggled out of Arthur’s grasp, looking pale and tired.

"All right, get some sleep. I’ll send you up a plate from the kitchens. But next time I invite you to dinner, I expect you to attend."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Yes, Arthur."

Arthur’s startled, just a moment, at the use of his given name. No one had called him that in years. Not since Gwen had left, not since his father had died and Leon had insisted on ‘sire’. It was so familiar, the teasing, irreverent tone, so intimate. It sliced, razor sharp, between Arthur’s ribs and made his heart ache for those days long past.

****

~o~

 

Merlin snuck out before the sun rose to capture a moment’s peace. He sat cross-legged on the grass of a small hill behind the castle. He closed his eyes and reached downward, his nails digging into the dirt. He let his magic burrow into the earth. It was different here. The Isle of the Blessed crackled with power, the intensity of it washing over him, sometimes for hours or even days. He often had no sense of time as he travelled through the depths of ancient magic, learning all that the island had to teach him. Here, the land was alive, fresh and sweet, patient as it waited for its golden age to begin. Merlin called out to it and it sang back, fluttering beneath him like a butterfly making its chrysalis tremble as it tried to break free. _Soon_ , Merlin whispered and fell deeper into his meditation.

The vision hit him like a wave, crashing into his mind until he was drowning with it. Creatures of every sort, some human, some beasts, others a grotesque mixture of the two – line after line of creatures, trudged onward with one goal: Camelot. He could see Mordred standing watch over the army, smiling. Morgana, at his side life a proud mother, bent and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Merlin’s eyes snapped open, the heavy footfalls of the army marching still echoing in his ears. He gasped for breath, pulse thundering and his body covered in a cold sweat.

He looked up, squinting at the sun, already high. He was startled to find Arthur seated next to him, his eyes wide and questioning.

"What is it?"

"It’s time." Merlin stood, wiping the grass from his breeches. He offered Arthur a hand up. "I can see Mordred. He is with Morgana. They are amassing an army."

Merlin pressed his eyes closed, reliving the vision again, catching every detail – the drawings of their plans. "We need to ride out to meet them. Catch them by surprise."

"Merlin, I think you’ve forgotten how this works." "I’m the _king_. I’m the one who decides when and if we go to war."

"They are coming."

"The citadel—"

Merlin shook his head, in some ways Arthur hadn’t changed at all. “Just... look.” He pressed his fingers to Arthur’s temples, let the vision flow between them, his gut twisting at the images of the possible future, the beasts tearing through the lower town, the citadel lost, the castle turrets crumbling ruins.

When Merlin pulled away, Arthur stared, his face pale and eyes wide as though he was still seeing the massacre.

"I need you to trust me, Sire. This battle, it’s why I’m here."

Arthur pressed his lips together, considering.

Merlin wanted to plead, find the words to make Arthur believe, but this was something Arthur needed to decide for himself.

Arthur pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose and something squeezed Merlin’s heart. He held his breath until Arthur finally spoke. "I will tell my men to prepare. Our army can be ready to march within three days."

That display of confidence in Merlin’s judgement was worth a thousand words, worth the years on the island to prepare for this moment; Merlin ducked his head to hide the intensity of his reaction. Suddenly a thought struck him. "But there is something I need to give you first."

They rode out within the hour, with Arthur prattling on about the preparations needed to move such an army, his worries about leaving Leon in charge after having been on death’s door only the day before. Merlin let the words wash over him, Arthur’s complaining welcome and familiar, and long missed after in the quiet, empty days alone.

"I feel like I know this place." Arthur said, eyeing a knotted old tree. "But I swear I have never travelled these woods."

Merlin watched him from the corner of his eye, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You were almost killed here – but you’ve conveniently forgotten."

"You speak in riddles." Arthur kicked his horse to a gallop, pulling ahead enough that it appeared he was leading, even if he had no idea where they were headed.

Merlin snorted, grateful for the interruption to his thoughts, which were full of war and betrayal. Death. With a tickle of amusement growing in his belly, he began the story of Sophia.

Arthur remained quiet for a long time after Merlin finished. "So you saved my life?"

"A number of times. And Uther’s as well, once or twice."

"You saved my father?" Arthur asked, genuinely confused. "I would have thought..."

"Yes," Merlin mused. "Usually using magic in the process."

"If you’d been caught…"

Merlin shrugged and they rode on in silence for a moment. It had been years since he’d feared for his life, since he’d dreamt of the pyre. The sting wasn’t so sharp any longer.

"Why would you?"

"I don’t want anyone dead. I kill when I have to, to protect people, because sometimes there is no other way. If I can stop a death, I will. That is what my magic is for. Not for revenge."

"Morgana, she—" Arthur stopped, unable or unwilling to say the words.

"I saw it, Arthur." Merlin remembered those months of heartwrenching visions with perfect clarity. Mordred had lured Morgana from Camelot, poisoning her mind with hate and rage, until her sanity crumbled under the weight of his influence. It was impossible to forget Morgana’s wild eyes as she stabbed Uther in his bed. She’d been taken, not clever or strong enough to get out of the castle without being discovered. "I saw a lot of things. The island where I was – where I was trapped – let me see what I was missing."

“I banished her. I could have had her executed. But I was confused, had no counsel I trusted with my thoughts. And I underestimating her power, how Mordred would be able to use her to know my weaknesses.”

“I don’t know that I would have counselled you different. Morgana was a dear friend.”

Arthur watched a hawk overhead circle for prey as they rode on. "So this thing? When did you put it here?"

"A lifetime ago," he said, because that is what it felt like – another life when he’d been a servant, when he’d travelled like this with Arthur, teasing and laughing, making the most of the company. "Before."

They fell quiet as they approached the lake as though the very air itself inspired reverence. _Take the sword far from here, and place it where no mortal man can ever find it._ Merlin dismounted and looked upon the lake. His gaze flickered to Arthur who stood at his side, face unreadable.

Merlin held out his hand. He didn't know a spell for this, didn't know what was expected, but let his instinct take over.

"I have come for the sword of King Arthur Pendragon," he shouted into the distance. The water was calm, barely a ripple in the breeze, and Merlin began to doubt. Arthur cleared his throat, shifting his weight from foot to foot with a clank of armour.

“I left the sword in your care, until such time as it is needed. Release the sword of King Arthur Pendragon, that he may fulfill his destiny." Merlin’s voice seemed to echo through the mountains. Then, at the centre of the lake, the water began to stir. Ripples spread outward from a single point and suddenly the tip of a sword broke the surface of the water.

Arthur inhaled sharply.

Merlin had dreamt of this, the image just as he was seeing now had flickered in his mind at night, like flashes of lightning, disappearing in an instant. The sword rose into the air, gleaming in the late day sun. Merlin had forgotten how beautiful it was, gold and silver, brighter than any blade Merlin had ever seen. It floated over the lake as though carried by the wind, until the hilt landed in Merlin's outstretched palm.

He turned to Arthur. "It was forged in the Dragon’s breath, and it is yours." He held the hilt in one open palm and the flat of the blade in the other. Then chest filled with pride, he slowly descended to one knee, presented the sword and bowed his head.

Arthur reached for the sword, clutching the hilt. He held it, testing its balance, letting its beauty catch every ray of sunshine. "I have never seen a sword like this." Merlin stood back and Arthur closed his eyes. Then he waved the sword in a perfect arc, twisting his wrist until the valley was alive with the hum of the sword slicing the air. "It is beautiful."

"It was meant for you. You alone."

Arthur never halted his movements, wielding the sword as if he were dancing. Merlin watched, mesmerised by Arthur’s grace. Longing struck him, the desire to be part of that dance, wanting to see the flex of muscles as he ran through the imagined drills. Merlin’s fingers itched to trace along Arthur’s back and feel the play of muscles, to know if the power within would seep through the skin and rise up to meet his own.

Arthur stopped, and turned. A frown marred his brow, a trace of a pout on his lips. The sweetness of it chased away the wandering of Merlin’s thoughts.

"And why was it in a lake?" Arthur asked.

Merlin lifted his shoulders in a small shrug. "You weren’t ready."

Arthur sighed, as if he half expected the answer. "Is there anything else you that have suddenly determined me ready for?"

Merlin thought for a moment and grinned. "Just one more thing..."

****

~o~

Arthur stared up at the massive beast, heart pounding in his chest. The sword was in his hand, but Merlin held his arm as he tried to raise it. He almost yanked free, the need to defend himself too great, but there was a warning in Merlin's eyes, and look that begged, _trust me_. Arthur tightened his grip on his sword but it remained pointed at the dirt.

He'd never seen a dragon. There had been pictures of the beasts in Geoffrey's chronicles of the purge. Arthur had only imagined the size, the sheer mass of such an animal flying over head. But now he was within a yard of truly terrifying jaws, its eyes gleaming gold like Merlin's had when he'd lit the torch. There was intelligence there as the dragon stared between him and Merlin. It opened its mouth and Arthur ducked into a protective stance, pushing Merlin behind him. Then suddenly it _spoke_.

"You have returned, young warlock." The dragon's voice was ancient, deep and tired sounding. "Last time I saw you, you said it would be the last."

Merlin squared his shoulders, seemingly unsurprised at the beast’s ability to talk, and pushed out from behind Arthur. "A lot of time has passed since then."

Arthur’s looked between them, infuriated that Merlin had visited this beast, that it _had known where Merlin had been_ and Arthur hadn’t. The secrets between them felt infinite. He set his jaw and listened, his temper simmering.

"Indeed." The dragon snorted a puff of hot air that pushed their fringes back and heated their cheeks. It did not look amused. "You have no idea of all that you risked, warlock. You should be grateful that the old religion decided to give you the knowledge that had been lost when you destroyed Nimueh. Your fate could have been much worse. You upset the very balance of nature and magic in destroying a high priestess before her destiny could be fulfilled."

Merlin scowled at the dragon, shouting back to it. "The island reset the balance and prepared me for _my_ destiny!"

"You were lucky." The dragon reared up, rearranging itself on the rock as though it were getting comfortable for a long argument. "You played with powers you did not understand."

"You are a hypocrite!" Merlin yelled and the dragon ducked so close, Arthur swore Merlin was about to be swallowed by those jaws. While his eyes narrowed, he did nothing and Merlin went on, without the slightest waver to his confidence. "You saw fit to let me _play with those powers_ when it was for your own gain."

"And yours. You did not want to see the young Pendragon die, and he didn't."

"Wait." Arthur stood straighter, not able to hold his tongue any longer. He pulled at Merlin's shoulder so Merlin might look him in the eye to tell him the truth. "What do I have to do with this?"

"It doesn't matter," Merlin muttered, his eyes still narrowed at the dragon.

The dragon snorted as though it were amused.

"It _doesn't_."

"What are you ashamed of, Merlin? It was your duty to protect Arthur and ensure he rose to the crown. Your methods were reckless but you clearly managed the task, even if it cost you half a decade of your life."

"What?" Arthur snapped, his fingers curled on Merlin bicep and he knew he was leaving a bruise, saw Merlin flinch. "Merlin, you expect me to trust you. You _will_ tell me."

The dragon laughed.

Merlin threw a vicious glare at the dragon before turning to Arthur. He spoke quickly as though anxious to get it over with. "The questing beast bit you."

"I remember." His shoulder still burned when he was over-tired or had pushed too hard in training.

"It is a death sentence. There is no cure."

"Gaius–"

"There is _no cure_." The flicker of the torch played on Merlin's face, making him look younger, like the boy Arthur knew years ago. "I travelled to the Isle of the Blessed to bargain with a high priestess of the old religion, my life for yours. You lived, but she had tricked me. I refused to accept her conditions." Merlin’s lips twisted into a pained sort of frown that made Arthur’s heart ache for the choice Merlin was given, whatever it was. His anger fizzled as Merlin finished his story. "I killed her. And the island refused to let me go."

Arthur struggled for words, wanting to say thank you, wanting to ask what was so unexpected that Merlin found it within himself to kill a high priestess, what was worse than death. But his throat had closed up and no words came to him.

"As I said, you were lucky," the dragon said, with the air of one who believes he always knows better than those around him.

"I will not argue with you." Merlin whipped around, waving the torch light towards the dragon. "It is done. I would do nothing differently. Now I have a proposal for you."

"More bargains, Merlin? You haven’t fulfilled the last."

"I was trapped on an island!"

"So many excuses, you humans," it said, but not without an edge of humour.

"Do you know what is happening out there? Mordred is gathering an army."

"I told you not to let the druid boy go free. You have a habit of ignoring me, then asking me for help when things go wrong."

Arthur suspected that was true, but Merlin ploughed on. "If you promise to help us now, if you give me your word, _as kin_ , I will set you free."

The dragon fell silent for a moment, his eyes narrowed, calculating. "And what does the son of my captor think of that?"

Arthur stepped forward, as close to the edge as he dared. He stared back into those massive golden eyes and raised his chin. "If you harm my people, I will hunt you down and return you here."

The dragon’s eyes widened. "Do not threaten me, little king!" Then he puffed flame directly at Arthur. Arthur dodged, but Merlin already had a shield erected. The flames crashed against it and disappeared.

"Enough!" Merlin boomed, deep and echoing in the labyrinth of caverns below the castle. "We want your help, but we do not _need_ it. If we don’t have your promise…"

The dragon shifted again on his rock, pebbles crumbling beneath his enormous claws. "You ask much, young warlock."

"We are not your enemy," Merlin said, quietly this time but with no less power behind it. "Uther is dead. Let your anger die with him."

The dragon turned to Arthur again. "And you will let Merlin stand by your side."

"I will."

"Then magic has returned to the land," it said in almost a whisper, sitting up straighter. Proud. "Your people are safe from my wrath so long as I am not hunted. You have my word, Merlin. _As kin_."

"And you will help us?"

"I will do what I can."

Arthur followed Merlin down the steep pathway that crossed the cavern until they reached the base of the chains that had held the dragon captive for nearly as long as Arthur had been alive. The iron links were as thick as a man’s arm, old and rusted. They clanked with each shift from the dragon high above them.

Arthur looked down at the sword in his hands and doubted it had the strength to cut the chains.

"There is more power in that sword than either of your small minds can fathom." The dragon twisted his neck to look down at them, and the giant chain swayed. "Merlin will harness it with his own power, and then you will have the strength to break the chains."

Merlin nodded, and with a steady grip, he wrapped his hands around Arthur’s hold of the sword. He spoke in words Arthur couldn’t understand, a slur of consonants and changing intonations. But the words had power. Arthur felt them course through his hand, up his arm. The hilt warmed as he raised it above his head. As Merlin released him and stepped away, Arthur struck. The link crumbled under the hit as through it were made of tempered clay and not iron. With a clank, the chain fell away and the dragon was off. His wings pounded through the air, shaking the entire cavern with their intensity.

Arthur stumbled towards the edge. Merlin was on him in an instant, pulling him back and pinning him to the stone wall. Merlin’s palms pressed into Arthur’s shoulders with surprising strength. Their bodies were close; Arthur could feel the heat of Merlin’s breath, the tickle of Merlin’s too-long hair on his cheek. His body was still alight from the thrill of standing face to face with the dragon, and the gratitude to Merlin for saving his life, being willing to die for him. His free hand settled at Merlin’s waist, tugging him closer.

"You all right?" Merlin asked, breathless.

"I—" Arthur swallowed, exhaled. He was a knife’s edge from giving in to the impulse to taste Merlin’s lips, to know what it felt like to kiss a man. His lips tingled at the thought of the lingering magic that might still be on that tongue. He had to push away from Merlin to answer, to think a moment. "We have a battle to prepare for."

Merlin blinked, shaking off whatever he was feeling. Whether he’d felt the same pull as Arthur or not, Arthur couldn’t be sure. But they let the moment pass, staring up at the empty cavern. There were other things to worry about at the moment.

****

~o~

  


The next few days were a flurry of planning. The excitement, anticipation and nerves of preparing to meet Mordred and Morgana’s army en route was wearing on everyone. Merlin did all that he could, sharpening swords and enchanting armour to withstand minor spells. He found quiet moments to meditate to ensure they would intercept the enemy far from Camelot.

Arthur addressed him as Emrys in public. If anyone recognised him as the prince’s clumsy manservant from years before, they said nothing. They regarded him warily but without much fear; he kept his smile disarming and his magic subtle. Arthur was always near, his hand on Merlin’s neck, his shoulder bumping Merlin’s. It was lovely, if distracting.

On the fourth day of the ride north, Merlin suggested to Arthur they stop and set up camp by midday. They would face Morgana come morning based on the progress both armies had made the day before.

That night, Arthur addressed his knights around the campfire. Merlin kept well back, leaning against a tree in the shadows of the forest, watching. Each knight had a squadron of soldiers to lead, possibly to their deaths, the next day. Arthur was now trying to inspire them, give them focus for them to pass on to his army. As the men formed a circle around him, Arthur took in each face, one by one. Recognition tugged at Merlin then, another group of men, but farmers that time whom Arthur had roused to confidence and eventual victory.

The king was a long way off from that young prince that had inspired the people of Ealdor, but the spirit of his words was the same: fight for your freedom, fight for those back in Camelot that they may live in peace to work and grow crops; fight that you may hold your head proud for the rest of your life that you did all you could for your family and your people.

The knights looked upon him and their faces glowed with respect. Their shoulder back and their chins high, they set off to their troops to pass on the word, the _purpose_. Arthur shook each of their hands, and when the last had left, he ducked into his tent.

Merlin waited, unsure. Then he pushed off the tree he’d been leaning against. He wasn’t really a part of the army, had no right to be present at their speeches, not yet; he’d let Arthur stand alone. Now, he pushed back the flap of Arthur’s tent and entered. It was quiet, the soft flicker of the lantern casting a orange glow on the canvas. Arthur was hunched over maps, quietly scribbling in his journal. Across his desk lay his new sword. Merlin breathed deeply, appreciating the peaceful moment, despite the flurry of activity as the campsite prepared for the next day’s battle.

"Mordred and Morgana are camped on the northern edge of the forest."

"Are you certain?" Arthur didn’t look up, but his fingers moved along the map, following the line of the forest. "We could move out before dawn and catch them unawares."

Merlin nodded, even though Arthur couldn’t see it. "I’ll give the message to Leon." He paused a moment, letting his gaze trace the stiff line of Arthur’s back. "I’ll leave you to your planning in quiet."

Arthur turned, his brow furrowed. "No. It’s good. It’s nice to have someone... filling the silence." He tossed down his quill and stood.

Merlin's mind flashed, unbidden, to the island, the too, too quiet of the day and the lonely nights that seemed to stretch on indefinitely until he thought he would lose his mind. He understood loneliness well enough, and that being surrounded by people didn’t exclude it. Those nights back in Camelot, before, when he’d sit by the hearth and polish armour while Arthur fiddled about with his pocket knife, those moments were the ones that Merlin had missed the most.

He found a wine skin and poured Arthur a cup, and after a moment one for himself. He took a long drink then began to fumble with the buckles of Arthur’s breastplate as though he had any right to touch him.

Arthur grabbed his wrist, stopping his progress to the left vembrance. "You are not my servant anymore, Merlin."

Merlin smiled, a teasing half grin, like he knew better. "Did I tell you about Marcus and Cook?" he began, his voice low as he slipped from Arthur's hold and worked the next latch. "He was just a tot when I left, and now he’s grown like a weed. Apparently, every morning he would steal the first buns out of the oven. I heard Cook complain about Marcus’ quick hands when I started getting our rations sorted. But right before we left, Cook got him, right good."

Arthur’s eyes were closed, the tension in his shoulders gone slack. But he was listening because he snickered; they both knew Cook's temper well.

"She doused the first buns with pepper." Merlin motioned for Arthur to lift his arms, and he slipped off the hauberk. "She said they were nearly black, and swore she thought he wouldn't touch them. But he must have thought they were poppy seeds because sure enough, he stole three from the first batch the moment she set them to cool. A minute later he was coughing a storm in the hallway. Sir Kay asked him if he'd caught the fever, he was so red."

Arthur couldn’t hide his chuckle as Merlin acted out a choking noise, then they both fell into full-bellied laughter.

When they had stopped, and caught their breath again, Arthur’s hands were at Merlin’s shoulders and he didn’t remember how they ended up standing so close. They were breathing the same air. This, Merlin had missed too. Arthur had always been very physical, hands on his neck, his shoulder, always talking right in Merlin’s face even if it was to call him a dunderhead. And now it made his heart race, as much for the longing of human touch after so long, as for the fact that it was _Arthur_ and no one else ever made his insides squirm in quite the same way.

Merlin could see a smudge of dirt at Arthur’s cheekbone. He lifted his hand to wipe it with his thumb, but Arthur’s hand covered his. The result was his hand cupping Arthur’s jaw, Arthur’s fingers pressed to his.

"I missed you." Arthur held his gaze, his face open and almost pained. "I thought you were dead."

Merlin didn’t know what to say, they hadn’t talked about that. About what Arthur had thought, what they had both been through in those years, the fact that he’d been _mourned_. It had felt too huge to broach and maybe it was better left unsaid. What mattered was the present and the moment they were sharing right now.

Merlin leaned in until their lips pressed together; Arthur stiffened. Merlin was sure he was going to get shoved back and prepared himself for it, his apology at the ready for having misread Arthur’s intentions. Beneath his hand, he felt a tremor run through Arthur’s jaw. Arthur’s lips softened, opening a fraction, just enough to drag along Merlin’s bottom lip.

"Yeah," he breathed into Arthur’s mouth and deepened the kiss. He wasn’t sure what he expected in those moments he had dared to dream of this, but it had never been like this: Arthur clawing at his hair, making filthy sounds as he licked and bit at Merlin’s mouth. It was dizzying. He clung tighter for balance, as if Arthur would stop him from floating away. Merlin’s magic was rising, simmering under the surface of his skin as if it needed to devour Arthur.

Arthur stepped closer and the hard line of his body fit too well with Merlin’s, hitting all the right places. Merlin could feel himself losing control and backed away with a pang of regret. "We need our sleep. And our energy."

Arthur was flushed, cheeks pink with arousal. He wouldn’t meet Merlin’s eyes.

"Arthur, after this is over–"

"Then what?" Arthur looked up, his face a mixture of anger and confusion. "Where does that leave us? Are you going back?"

Merlin stepped forward, couldn’t help it. He clasped Arthur’s hands and struggled to put everything he was feeling, his devotion, into words. "I’m happy to be your servant until the day I die." He meant it like it a promise but Arthur’s face hardened, furious. Merlin’s breath caught at the intensity of the reaction.

"Fuck." Arthur pounced, reaching up to pull on Merlin’s hair, colliding their mouths together in a brutal kiss. "Don’t you dare say that."

Merlin lost himself in the kiss for a moment, let Arthur drown him in whatever he was feeling. Then Merlin remembered why the words were familiar, when he had said them last, right before his final trip to the Isle of the Blessed. A weight pressed down on his ribs as he began to understand Arthur’s words. He kissed Arthur back, crashing into him like wave hitting the cliff of the island during a storm.

Arthur pulled back, breathless, just far enough to whisper, "Don’t you dare."

"Arthur." Merlin pressed his brow to Arthur’s; they were clutching each other’s hair, clinging. "Arthur, I’m not going anywhere. We have a destiny. And it’s so much more than this. More than just tomorrow."

They held each other, panting like there wasn’t enough air in the tent, in the world. Outside, the camp was settling in for the night: a few knights discussing battle tactics, squires dividing up the rations for the horses, and behind it all there was rhythmic singing of whetstones gliding over swords.

Arthur moved first, loosening his hold on Merlin’s nape. He cleared his throat. "Are you ready for tomorrow?"

"I am." Merlin’s stomach twisted at the lie, but ‘ready as I can possibly be’ didn’t inspire much confidence. Arthur was nervous enough for both of them. "Get some sleep. I’ll tell Leon to be ready before the sun rises."

Arthur nodded, jaw already set, battle-ready again.

Merlin leaned in, placing a soft kiss to Arthur’s forehead before slipping out of the tent. He doubted either of them would get much sleep that night.

****

~o~

The sword was a thing of beauty in battle. Arthur wielded it with ease, an extension of his arms, powerful and deadly. He watched in awe on his first few strikes as it sliced through shields and snapped opponent swords on contact. He felt indestructible with it in his hands.

The rain began within the first hour of the battle. It was an unnatural, thrashing, punishing rain, stinging their eyes and slowing the feet of the soldiers on both sides. It was not Mordred’s soldiers that worried Arthur, but the beasts. The wargs tore through Camelot’s men, ripping apart every man who was not quick enough to run. Those that stood and fought found their weapons useless.

Arthur searched the crowd. He saw Merlin a few yards away, felling a small griffin in mid-flight. "Emrys!" Arthur shouted through the rain. "The wargs! Can you do anything?"

Merlin looked up, his eyes golden, and he nodded. Arthur saw his mouth form words. He couldn’t make out a sound over the rain, but the air began to heat. Across the field, sword after sword flickered blue as though Merlin was lighting a candelabra. The first knight to notice stared at the sword a moment then attacked a charging warg. His strike sliced the beast in half and the soldiers around him cheered. After that, the men stopped running.

Arthur turned to Merlin and, tight lipped, nodded his approval.

The battle raged on, wet and brutal. Under the thrashing rain, the roar of the beasts and the clink of swords, Merlin muttered a constant stream of magic which Arthur _felt_ more than heard. But it wasn’t enough – they were being inched back, towards the river. Arthur could feel it, the battle slipping away from them. Their numbers dwindled; their conviction drowned in the rain and blood-soaked mud at their feet.

At first, Arthur thought the noise was the storm, the wind picking up, thunder in the distance. Then he heard the first scream.

"Dragon!" Leon cried out, pointing at the sky and directing the archers.

"Hold!" Arthur called to them. "See what it does." He looked across the battlefield to Merlin and found him pale and trembling from the hours of casting spell after spell, not looking like he was ready to take on the dragon should it turn on them. He’d taken a chance in not telling his men about the beast. But fear and confusion the night before a battle – the very _idea_ of a dragon being free in Albion, could have swayed the men’s resolve, shaken their confidence in their leader. Arthur might pay for that decision with his kingdom.

When the dragon roared, the earth trembled beneath Arthur’s feet. A soldier to his left stumbled to the mud. The entire battlefield seemed to pause, a collective moment of panic as the dragon swooped downwards. Arthur’s men were thrown back at the force of its wings, the air like a wind-storm. With a mighty sound, the sky lit with fire and the men on both sides crashed to the earth, covering themselves with shields as best they could.

When the light faded and the sound of the rain was all that remained, Arthur climbed to his feet and stared slack-jawed at the destruction. The battlefield was charred. Fires burned every few yards but they were quickly doused by the rain. Mordred’s army had been decimated, while Camelot’s was left untouched.

"Do you surrender?" Arthur called out into the smoke. As it cleared, a figure stepped forward, tall and slender, unmistakable raven hair dancing, long and wet, in the wind.

Morgana was in breeches, furs and chainmail, looking every bit the warlord she was acting. She looked at Arthur with such hate it made his breath catch and heart ache for the woman he had once loved like a sister.

"Do _you_ surrender?" She raised an eyebrow, her lip curling.

Arthur looked around, Mordred was no where to be seen. He lifted his sword into the air and screamed. "Attack!"

Camelot’s army cried out, rushing forward, pressing in on Mordred's army until they were forced back.

Morgana appeared oblivious. She stalked forward, her eyes pinned to Arthur, her smile manic. "Arthur, Arthur, Arthur."

Arthur lifted his chin and met her gaze. "Morgana."

"Would you like me to kill you slowly, let you think you might win, or make it fast and let you keep your dignity?" Her eyes were wide, almost like those early days of her nightmares, when she panicked for fear of his life. An age had passed since then.

Arthur sighed. "Don’t do this, Morgana." It would be easier if she were sane, if Arthur believed she was acting in her right mind. Then he could run her through and know it was necessary.

She cackled; there was no shred of sanity in the sound. "It's is far too late, King Arthur." She raised her hand and in her palm a ball of fire appeared. Before Arthur could blink, she hurled it toward him.

Arthur dodged and rolled, coming up with his shield at the ready for the next strike. It slammed into him with enough force to knock him off his feet. He'd lost track of Merlin after the dragon attack, and was afraid to call for him now. If Morgana didn't know Merlin was here, there was a better chance of defeating her by keeping her focus solely on Arthur. Assuming Merlin still had magic enough left in him to fight and win against Morgana.

"You will die and the Pendragon legacy will be over." Morgana swept her palms together and raised them upwards. The ground shook, and bits of wood and vines from the field lifted from the ground and flew at Arthur. He swung his sword to bat them away; they crumbled at his blade.

Arthur caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He spun in time to see Mordred directly behind him. His arm rose. A ball of lightening crackled at his fingertips. Arthur knew he was dead the moment he saw the triumph in Mordred's eyes. Then Mordred was flying backwards and Morgana was screaming. Mordred's body hit a tree, falling broken and unmoving to the earth. The ball of magic in his hand fizzled to nothing.

Standing alone in the rain behind them was Merlin. He looked at them, eyes still golden, feral. His hair was wild and his hands still shimmered with magic.

Morgana's screams carried over the rain. The branches and weeds she'd commanded dropped to the earth.

Merlin walked slowly to Mordred and pressed a finger to his neck. "He’s dead, Morgana. It’s over."

"This will never be over," Morgana rasped, tears streaking down her face. "Never." She crossed her arms over her face and faded out of existence with an unnatural, twisting wind.

The battlefield fell into chaos as the creatures conjured by Mordred’s magic fell to the mud. Moments later, the air erupted with shouts of surrender.

****

~o~

Merlin had stood, trembling in the rain as the field began to be cleaned up, unsure what his part now was. He barely recalled Arthur dragging him way from the bodies, from the blood, and back to the campsite. But they were there now, in Arthur's tent, sweat and mud matting to their hair and covering their faces.

Arthur motioned to an empty chair. "You need to rest. I’ll see to things out there."

Merlin opened his mouth to protest, to say that his mind was numb but his body was on fire, that being still was torture, but Leon popped his head through the tent opening.

"Sire," Leon said and Merlin began to pace the length of the tent. "Mordred's army seems confused. It’s as though they aren’t even sure how they'd arrived onto a battlefield."

"Gather them," Arthur instructed. "Make sure they are not harmed. If they were enchanted to serve Mordred, they may be more than likely to stand with us of their own free will."

"Yes, Sire. We are fine out here. I’ll see to it that the injured are treated as best we can." Leon looked past Arthur to Merlin. "We may need Emrys later."

Arthur shot him a look over his shoulder. "He needs rest."

"Yes, Sire." Leon bowed and left.

The minute Leon was gone, Arthur closed the tent flap and tied it shut. They would not be disturbed again. "Would you _stop_! You need to rest."

"No!" Merlin ran a hand through his sodden hair. "I can’t. I need—" He growled in frustration because he really didn’t know what he needed.

Mordred had almost completed the dragon’s prophecy. Merlin could still feel the sticky dark hatred in the power, the intensity of the spell he’d incanted. Arthur would’ve been dead in another heartbeat. Without even a conscious thought Merlin had roared, slamming his magic at Mordred. He looked down and found the tips of his fingers still shimmered.

Arthur held his shoulders, forced his gaze upward. "What do you need?"

He’d killed the boy he’d once saved. He'd killed the boy destined to murder Arthur. Elation and guilt choked him.

"Merlin." Arthur’s fingers circled Merlin’s wrists. "Hey. Are you with me here? You need to rest."

"I need—" Merlin pulled Arthur against him, his chest plate digging sharply at Merlin’s collarbone. Merlin pulled him tighter, needing to feel more, anything. He trembled as he pulled Arthur into a kiss. The snaps and buckles of Arthur’s armour all released with an audible click.

"Fuck," Arthur moaned into the kiss.

Merlin’s fingers shook as he tore at Arthur’s clothes, not caring what he must look like, what Arthur must think of him. "I need _you_."

"You are fevered. God, Merlin." Arthur bit along his neck, dragging his teeth just shy of pain. His fingers curled at Merlin’s waist, clutching tight enough to bruise. "You are like fire."

Merlin could see the shimmer of his skin, growing rather than receding, his magic rising with every touch. On the island he’d used magic until he was spent, waking collapsed on the grass unsure if hours, days, or weeks had passed. It was nothing like this, this feeling of being alive, being beyond alive, like no one had ever been so thoroughly alive before.

It only mattered that Arthur was pulling off his tunic, huffing in annoyance when Merlin wouldn’t stop working off Arthur’s hauberk to lift his own arms.

Merlin licked and sucked everywhere he could find skin.

"I’m filthy." Arthur laughed, tugging at Merlin’s hair as he sucked a bruise behind Arthur’s ear.

Merlin nuzzled the spot and inhaled. "You smell like the earth. The earth is mine to wield." Merlin liked that thought, rolled it around in his head for a moment. He slipped his hand into the back of Arthur’s breeches.

Arthur gasped as Merlin’s fingers teased his cleft then dipped between his arse cheeks.

"Okay?" Merlin breathed, almost silently into Arthur’s ear.

Arthur shivered. "Yes."

Merlin hid his pleased smile at Arthur’s nape and let magic pool at his fingertips. "Arthur, please."

Arthur groaned. "Yes." His back arched and Merlin’s magic seemed to have a mind of its own, creeping along Arthur’s skin. Arthur’s breath was coming in short, rasping gasps as Merlin pressed a finger to his rim and let his magic penetrate Arthur.

Arthur's hips thrust forward, knocking their groins together in a frantic rhythm. He cried a strangled, "Ah!" and shoved Merlin to the mattress. They scrambled with their breeches, shoving them down to their knees before Arthur gave up and tackled Merlin again. Merlin widened his legs as best he could so Arthur could settle between them. He was trapped now with his breeches around his ankles and Arthur kneeling on top of them, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered once Arthur leaned forward, pinning their cocks between their bodies, and began to rock.

Merlin clawed down Arthur's back, feeling the muscles flex with each thrust. He urged Arthur faster, harder, but he could barely move himself. Arthur had to be exhausted, driven by adrenaline and lust alone because the battle had taken everything out of them. He gripped Arthur's arse and squeezed him closer, needing everything Arthur could give him.

Just as Arthur was losing rhythm and Merlin could feel that tingle at his spine that said he was teetering on the edge, he reached lower and pressed a finger, just the tip, into Arthur's body. Arthur arched, crying out, his thrusts going wild and reckless against Merlin.

Merlin held back, only barely. He didn't trust himself, but he let his magic slip free again, pushing gently until it was inside, filling Arthur in every way possible.

Arthur’s eyes widened as he choked out, "Merlin." It was loud, _impossibly_ loud as Merlin filled him up, took him, and claimed him. Merlin half-wondered who might hear, and if he really cared.

Their hips stuttered at a frantic pace, bound in magic and lust and sweat, until they cried out with their completion, one toppling on the edge of the other.

They stared at each other a moment, as their heart rates evened out and the afterglow began to fade. Merlin ached, not sure if he could ever move again. Arthur looked just as drained.

"I really am filthy now." Arthur tried to lift himself off, only to collapse again. "Could you… do something."

Merlin snickered into Arthur’s bare shoulder, pressing his lips to the salty skin. "Too tired," he muttered, and clung a little tighter, not ready to let the moment go.

" _Merlin._ "

With a grunt, Merlin waved his hand and whispered a spell. It wasn't much, but it got them as clean as a wet cloth might.

"Thank you." Arthur kissed him, unhurried and sloppy, until Merlin was breathless all over again. They took their time getting dressed, only to flop back onto the mattress and catch a nap, curled around each other.

****

~o~

Arthur woke alone.

The moon lit the remains of the battlefield where a few bodies remained, waiting until morning to be moved. The injured were back at the campsite; Leon would have seen to that.

But Merlin hadn’t gone to heal the sick. Arthur found him gathering the last few branches for a funeral pyre. Mordred's body was laid out on top, his hood covering his face.

"He was worth saving then," Merlin whispered, likely more to himself than to Arthur. "He didn't have to become filled with so much hate."

Arthur put a hand on Merlin's shoulder, but said nothing.

"I will never understand."

"Perhaps you aren't meant to." Arthur tightened his grip. "It's over."

Merlin sniffled, wiping his cheeks with his sleeve, then without hesitation, holding out his hand, he said, " _Forbearn._ "

They watched Mordred’s body burn until the winds changed and the smoke became too much. As they turned, Merlin looked to the sky. Above them, the silhouette of the great dragon blocked the light of the moon.

Moments later, it landed in their path.

Merlin stepped forward, fearless, and Arthur had to suppress the urge to pull him back. "Thank you," Merlin said.

The dragon's head bobbed in what had to be a nod, then it turned to the pyre, still burning in the distance. "You’ve created your own destiny now, young warlock."

"Things are as they should be. Unknown."

The dragon lifted up. "Unknown to _you_ , perhaps," it said, smug. It bowed first to Merlin and then to Arthur. "Together, you will be great."

It took off in a flurry of wind and dirt; they rushed to cover their faces. Arthur wondered if he’d ever encounter the beast again.

They made their way back to camp. Arthur had to see to the prisoners and make decisions that would change the course of many men’s lives. Merlin had to see to the sick and save all those he could, mourn those he could not.

They stopped for a moment, just at the rise of the hill.

Arthur looked out at the lands before him, all of Albion sprawled out at his feet. Beside him, Merlin smiled and nodded, and Arthur took his hand.

 

****

~fin~

  



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